


if you were mine, i don't think i would mind (but let's not think about that)

by xiryna



Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Implied Relationships, Introspection, M/M, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 23:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiryna/pseuds/xiryna
Summary: Sometimes He Tian thinks about what it'd be like if they were meant to be, but then he remembers that maybe it's for the best if they weren't, because it doesn't suit Guan Shan to be dragged down with him into the dark.





	if you were mine, i don't think i would mind (but let's not think about that)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my Google Drive for about a year now. I've been rereading it and rereading it, waiting for the novelty to wane and for myself to be sick of my words and writing so much so that I delete it, like I've done countless other things of mine. But since it's been a year and this has somehow survived all the times my brain has tried to pick it apart, I decided that I might as well post it finally lol. By no means do I think this is amazing, but I like it well enough I guess haha.  
> This is kind of weird, since it's my first work I'm actually sharing on here, but I think this is the part where I tell you I hope you enjoy it lol.

If He Tian had to describe him, he’d be glass: tinted, one-way, and tempered in the humid overheat that stems from Hangzhou summers and adrenaline giving way to exertion. The snapchats he always sends are blurry and out of focus, featuring the same glowering eyes and the same time stamp on each one like he’s hyper aware of the cramped hours and rushing minutes that pretend to go slower in the lazy, sweltering sun. But He Tian knows Guan Shan likes summer the best anyway, because the days are long and drawn-out, pulled and stretched like cheap taffy from the corner store, or that fruity gum he always buys if he’s got any spare change. 

But at the same time, Guan Shan is _glass_ , and he’s so utterly and undeniably breakable that sometimes He Tian worries. Worries if someone’s grip on that wonderfully unmarked throat will ever become a little bit too much, worries if he won’t be around to stop it. Worries about the passing winds, because in the high heat of summer their whispers lure the worst out into the open: a child’s unexplained urge, a woman’s bone-deep instinct, a dark voice in the back of his own head that isn’t him, but must be, and that is just a little bit too intrigued by the sounds wretched, broken people make -- buckling knees and shattering bones and the flatline of the heart monitor when their lifelines stretch thin. 

He worries about all these things and more, wonders also if there’s something wrong with him, and comes to the conclusion that there must be, because despite the danger he craves Guan Shan’s presence the same way he used to crave aloe on sunburns when he was still young enough to shy away from pain. He craves him the same way he now craves a world gone hushed and quiet with the night, the same way he craves the sting of antiseptic -- razor-sharp, crystal-clear -- that reminds him he is alive. He craves him in a way that reminds him he is selfish.

But their worlds overlap in ways he’d rather not see; Guan Shan doesn’t at all belong in a place like this, a place where the filthy concrete hides away blood stains like old friends offering refuge, a place where someone with no money and no connections might as well be without air. A cutthroat world like that has no place for one Mo Guan Shan, all rusted copper and patina swathed in terracottas and yellow ochres, smelling like cardamom and star anise. In contrast, He Tian himself is shoe polish, black leather that gleams. The crucifix hanging from his neck shines in the light as if heaven will ever even be a possibility for someone like him, and sometimes, at night, when He Tian thinks about what it'd be like if they were meant to be, the irony of it serves to remind him that maybe it's for the best if they weren't, because it doesn't suit Guan Shan to be dragged down with him into the dark. 

Now, glancing at the boy beside him, Guan Shan deserves better, He Tian knows. Haloed in the dwindling sun, meshing so perfectly against the wine-stained sky, he's always been someone He Tian is greedy for, even though he altogether has always wanted what he really shouldn't. So he compromises. He salvages little bits of the home his empty flat becomes when Guan Shan is in it, and collects pieces of memories that make him ache when he isn't. He carefully preserves the way the view of the city, sprawling beneath the balcony and aglow with the lights of a hundred thousand people, suddenly makes him feel invincible, when before he only felt like an intruder gazing at a world that wasn’t his. He commits to memory every little thing: the clash of their skin tones when he throws an arm around his shoulders; their voices against the white noise of the rain; Guan Shan's hands when he cooks, all effortless motion and muscle memory; the quiet appreciation he doesn’t voice but He Tian can see by the way his stance slackens and his demeanor softens and his expression smooths itself out. 

He wonders what expression he makes upon looking at him, because inside it just feels like turmoil, a concoction of everything, and he feels it so deeply sometimes that he has no idea what to do with it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


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